


Warming Up

by helens78



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: 1960s, Epic Bromance World Tour, First Time, Gay Mutant Road Trip, Hand Jobs, M/M, Road Trips, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-14 06:04:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the Epic Bromance World Tour, Charles fumbles an opportunity, but he's not going to be left out in the rain forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warming Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cesare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cesare/gifts).



It's a restless night for both of them. Charles is not normally a light sleeper, but then, he doesn't normally share such close sleeping arrangements with another person, either. His dreams are too likely to carry. People don't like the reminder of everything he can do, everything he can't help but do.

Erik, by contrast, simply raised an eyebrow at Charles when he suggested getting separate rooms, and made noises about _unnecessary expense_ \-- apparently he doesn't trust the CIA to reimburse them, or doesn't think Charles can afford two motel rooms a night-- and, a protest Charles was less keen on ignoring, _unnecessary risk_. Charles doesn't want to discount Erik's tendency toward hypervigilance. If he's more comfortable sharing a room with Charles than not, Charles isn't going to argue.

It does, however, lead to the occasional uncomfortable circumstance. Charles remembers the way Erik's lips thinned and his mood grew tense, that night Charles's libido got the best of him and he took a lovely young woman up on her offer of a nightcap. (Charles felt, personally, that he could not be blamed; when he'd complimented her OC1R mutation and gave her his usual line about mutation bringing humanity from single-celled organisms to the dominant life form on the planet, she'd responded by licking her lips and mentioning that she'd majored in biology before taking a job as a secretary in a university research lab.)

Erik greeted him with a curt nod when he got back to the motel room, and all attempts at conversation failed entirely. Charles went to sleep feeling replete and guilty, all at once, which was uncomfortable on several counts... but in the morning, he found a steaming mug of coffee on the bedside table, and Erik had already packed the car, allowing Charles to sleep in.

Tonight, though, there's no particular cause for restlessness. Charles and Erik have been getting along like a house on fire for the last week; they've had no arguments, barely even any disagreements. Charles is learning to navigate Erik's stubbornness, and if he's to be honest, Erik's learning to do the same with him. (Charles maintains that Erik's stubbornness far outpaces his own, but he isn't going to ask Raven for a second opinion.)

No, there's no reason for it to be a restless night, except that Erik can't seem to fall asleep-- unusual for him, he's trained himself to fall asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, and to wake just as readily, no matter how long or short a time he has for rest-- and as a result, every time Charles finds himself slipping dreamward, he'll hear a disgruntled sigh from Erik, or feel a thread of tension or annoyance, and just like that, he's starting over at square one.

Around three in the morning, Erik's shifting makes Charles throw his arm over his face and groan, and suddenly Erik's attention is captured, another rustle of covers indicating that he's turning to look over at Charles's bed. It's nearly too dark in here to see anything, but Erik has excellent night vision, Charles knows.

"You're still awake?"

"Mmrff," Charles answers, from underneath his arm.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to keep you up."

Charles sighs and lifts his arm off his face, peering over in the darkness. He can make out Erik's shape, slender as a reed, on his side with his head propped up on his hand. He isn't wearing his usual undershirt to bed; somewhere around one, Charles recalls Erik taking it off and flinging it across the room, the noises waking Charles from a near-doze. He doesn't recall-- is trying _not_ to recall-- if he heard Erik's boxer shorts make the same departure.

"Is there anything I can do to help you get to sleep?" Charles tries. It's worth asking, at least.

The surge of attention and interest from Erik implies there might actually _be_ something. Thank God. If Charles doesn't get to sleep soon, he may actually weep with frustration.

But just as quickly, Erik's sighing and falling onto his back. "I don't think so."

"Erik."

"Charles," Erik retorts.

"I'm only trying to help."

"Thank you." That comes out clipped, too. "But no."

Charles sighs. "What is it?"

"Nothing. _Nothing_." Erik groans; Charles watches the shadows move as Erik covers his face with both hands and then rubs at his eyes. "It's late, I'm not thinking clearly."

"You could let me be the judge of that."

Erik goes still, not even breathing. "I already warned you-- you don't want to look too closely at my mind."

_Warned_ him. Charles sighs. "Fine. Have it your way," he grumbles, rolling over, turning his back on Erik. "Maybe you should try taking a bloody walk, if you can't sleep."

"If this keeps up much longer, I'll try that," Erik mutters. "I did apologize."

"Yes, accepted. Kindly shut up and let me _sleep_." Charles shoves at his pillow, trying to make the lumpy thing into a slightly more comfortable lump. He doesn't have much success.

Erik doesn't sleep, but the tension running through the room is constant, at that point. No flickers, no surges. It's like a background noise, but a constant one-- the murmur of cicadas instead of the occasional yowl of a cat in heat. It might actually be enough to let Charles find some rest.

*

Waking up hard is a normal occurrence; Charles knows enough about the male body to be aware that it's not about arousal, it's a simple physical response, nothing to do with desire or need or urgency.

Usually.

This morning, Charles wakes up with his blood pounding through him, his cock throbbing, his head fuzzy with sleep and the lack thereof. He's got his hand around his cock before he can even begin to spare a thought for where Erik might be.

Oh, but once he's done that, he notices the sound. The shower's running, that must be Erik. And... ah. Well, this has been another side effect of sharing close living quarters with someone; when Erik gets himself off-- which is invariably on those mornings Charles isn't yet awake, which is _always_ in the shower, as if the sound can possibly cover the feelings Erik puts out when he's doing it-- Charles scrambles for a tissue or for yesterday's used boxers, whatever's handy, getting himself off quickly so that by the time Erik finishes his shower, they've both taken care of their needs.

Erik probably knows Charles does that; he's seen for himself that when he's in a bad mood, Charles can tell, and that when he's in a good mood, it's infectious. Surely he's observant enough to realize that when he's aroused, Charles can't help but feel it. Doing it in the shower allows them both the polite fiction that Erik's trying to be discreet, and that Charles doesn't notice. But Erik shares living quarters with a telepath. Discretion is mostly an academic exercise, and Charles's observation isn't something he can help.

And they are both men, after all. There's nothing wrong with masturbation, and it's not as if Charles has ever made any requests or, God forbid, demands. Erik hasn't done, either. It's all been ordinary, a normal, healthy function of... the hell with it. Charles doesn't know how long he has; he gropes outside the covers, finds a scrap of fabric, and tugs it up into bed with him.

He's barrelling toward climax when he gets a whiff of the cloth, and the scent of Erik-- Erik's aftershave and deodorant, Erik's sweat after a long day on the road, _Erik_ \-- fills his senses. He moans, barely getting it down in time, his orgasm overtaking him in a rush. He has to bite his lip to keep from saying it out loud: _Erik, Erik, God, yes, Erik..._

And, of course, when he's through, he grimaces. He's got a wadded, come-stained shirt in his hands, and it isn't his. All he'll be able to do with it is stuff it into his own laundry and hope Erik doesn't notice its absence before they make time to wash their clothes, or stay somewhere long enough to send it out to the cleaners.

He supposes he could blame this on his lack of sleep, but that doesn't explain why he lifts the crumpled fabric to his nose and breathes in deeply. Erik's aftershave and deodorant and scent, and now _Charles_ , his come all over it, Erik and Charles and sex...

The water cuts off in the bathroom, and Charles struggles out of bed, quickly going over to his suitcase and tugging out today's clothes, jamming Erik's shirt down into the deepest recesses of the case. By the time Erik comes out, Charles is able to smile up at him, looking-- he hopes-- a bit groggy, but not suspicious.

"All yours," Erik says absently, heading for his own suitcase and pulling out today's clothes. Charles looks up at him-- still damp, flushed around the neck, hair neatly combed, towel wrapped around those ridiculously narrow hips of his, his stomach flat and lean with the lightest possible trail of hair leading from his navel to the top of his-- towel-- and, tearing his gaze away from Erik, Charles goes on to busy himself with pulling out his own clothes for the day. Silk boxers, vest, shirt-- not too crumpled, he's getting the hang of packing his own clothing-- and trousers. Socks. He rearranges things so Erik's undershirt doesn't show, not even a hint of it.

"Thanks," Charles says. His voice comes out hoarse; he clears his throat. "Thank you," he tries again. He gathers his clothing up into his arms and takes it into the bathroom, closing the door behind him and leaning back against it for a moment. Erik and his towels. It's probably just as well Charles got himself off before Erik walked out of the bathroom.

*

They're on the road for most of the day, arriving in St. Louis after the usual dinner hour has come and gone. After getting themselves a meal at a local diner, they agree that there's no point in trying to meet their fellow mutant at half past nine, and find a motel room, a slightly more spacious one than usual. This one has, in addition to the usual single beds, a table large enough to accommodate their chessboard. Erik glances at Charles and smiles. "A game before bed?"

"Any game you'd like," Charles offers, too tired to think much about what he's saying before the words come out. Erik blinks at him, and Charles bites his lip to hold back a wince. "Of course, I meant. Chess. A game of chess. Where's the chessboard?"

"I think I packed it away last time. I'll look for it if you'd like to take a moment to wash up."

It's funny how they're getting to know one another's habits. Charles likes to wash his hands and splash some cold water on his face after a long day on the road; Erik would rather just have a strong coffee. Charles got that for him as they were leaving the diner-- he ran back to the car for Erik's steel thermos and charmed the waitress into filling it while Erik paid the bill at the cash register.

When he gets back out of the washroom, Erik has the chessboard set up on the table, and he's leaning forward, his elbows resting on the wooden surface, his hands cradling the cup that doubles as the lid of his thermos. He takes a long drink and then floats the cup gently down to the table, looking sidelong at Charles.

Something about that look sends the hairs on the back of Charles's neck prickling. He can feel an emotion undulating just beneath the surface of Erik's thoughts, just enough to tell him that if he were inclined to read Erik without his permission, there'd be something to read.

He promised Erik back at the CIA compound, though. He'll stay out of Erik's mind unless it's an emergency. This doesn't qualify.

"Ready?" Erik asks. Charles slides into the seat across from him and nods. He pushes a pawn forward. "Your move."

"Yes," Erik says, sitting back. "I just haven't decided which move to make yet."

That doesn't sound like him. Charles frowns, momentarily tempted to go back on his word and take a look inside Erik's thoughts. If something's going on that's making Erik behave strangely, Charles would much rather know what it is. He doesn't need it coming out of nowhere, surprising him.

He changes his mind on that when Erik leans forward, his hand reaching to Charles's shoulder. Charles startles upright, but doesn't try to get away. Erik must have been looking for a sign from him, because as soon as Charles leans forward-- the slightest, tiniest bit forward, but enough to be felt against Erik's palm-- Erik half-stands, leans entirely over the table, and puts his mouth on Charles's.

Erik tastes like coffee, and his tongue is hot and slides expertly against Charles's, making Charles shiver. Charles reaches up with both hands, curving them against Erik's cheeks, thumbs rubbing at Erik's day-old stubble.

"What," Charles breathes, when Erik finally draws back, "what brought that on?"

"The chessboard." Erik nods down at it. His hand is still on Charles's shoulder, and even through Charles's twill sport coat and jumper vest, and all the other layers besides, Charles feels heat. "It was in _your_ suitcase, not mine."

"My--" Charles scrambles back, groaning, leaning back in his seat. "It was an honest mistake, Erik--"

"Coming all over my clothing was an honest mistake?"

"It was on the other side of my bed, I'd forgotten you threw it, I thought it was mine," Charles babbles. "I was in a hurry, your showers are only so long..."

"So it was a _mistake_ ," Erik says, hands flat on the table now, back ramrod-straight. "I understand." He pushes the two pawns back into place. Each of his movements is stiff, not like Erik's lithe, threatening grace at all. "I apologize."

"Not necessary," Charles says hoarsely. "We all make mistakes, Erik."

"Maybe we'd be better off if I took the room next door. It's vacant."

"I can't imagine why _that_ would be necessary, either," Charles says. "Can we chalk all of that up to a few late nights in a row and..."

Erik finally looks up at him again. "And?"

"And familiarity," Charles says quietly. "It's the sort of thing that might happen when people are familiar with each other."

"I'd always heard that familiarity breeds contempt."

"I prefer to take a more optimistic view of things." Charles bites his lower lip, looking at Erik. Maybe he oughtn't to have made the excuse at all. Maybe he ought to have kept kissing Erik back, shut up and avoided any questions. Maybe he ought to ask, now, if it's too late to take it all back.

Erik steps away from the table, and the moment is well and truly lost. Charles rubs at his face. All this time, all these weeks, and he never saw that coming. And now he's unlikely to see it again.

Fuck.

*

"If you're looking for companionship tonight, the young woman in the plaid skirt," Erik murmurs, coming over to the bar and taking the bar stool next to Charles. Charles glances up at him, and Erik leans closer, his shoulder bumping conspiratorially up against Charles's. "Over there," Erik says, nodding, "at the table with the other two."

Charles glances over, and meets the eyes of a young woman, who smiles at him. Automatically, he smiles back, but he also ghosts his ability across her mind, checking-- ah, yes. As he thought.

"The operative word is _young_ ," Charles murmurs, leaning a bit more against Erik. Erik lifts a hand and signals the bartender over for a drink; it's a club soda tonight with a bit of lemon, no martini. Charles is still on his first pint of the evening. As the bartender moves away, Charles explains, "She's only seventeen."

"Is she? She looks older."

"She's trying." Across the room, she bends her head close to her friend's, whispering with her. Both young women look back at Charles; the one in the plaid skirt flashes him another grin and tosses her hair over her shoulder.

Charles draws his hand up, claps Erik on the shoulder... and then glides his hand down Erik's back before resting both arms on the bar again. Erik's attention snaps to Charles, riveted there; he looks down at Charles's hand.

"It's been two weeks," Erik says quietly. "I thought you'd be grateful for-- company."

Charles turns fully to face him, eyebrows raised. "Did you."

Erik's jaw works; he looks up at the ceiling, eyes narrowing, and finally down at the floor again, his gaze careful to avoid Charles, his eyes, his mouth, his hands. "It isn't any of my business."

"Erik--"

Erik digs into his pocket and tosses a handful of coins on the bar. They all land face-up, neatly in a row. "I'm going back to the room. You can do what you like."

" _Erik._ "

"I won't wait up."

Charles sighs and digs into his own pocket for cash; he has to dip into the bartender's mind to get his total, and it takes him a moment to set out the proper amount. The girl in the plaid skirt is quick; in the time it takes him to pay his bill, she's over by him, a hand on his arm, smiling up at him with perfect white teeth. "Going so soon? It's still awfully early."

"I'm afraid so. My friend wasn't feeling well." Charles nods at the door. "We're traveling tomorrow, I'd best look in on him."

"He seemed all right to me." She steps even closer, her fingertips moving up to his bicep, further up to his shoulder. "You could buy me a drink before you go."

"I think that might get the both of us into rather a lot of trouble," Charles says gently, stepping out from under her touch. "I do apologize. Have a good evening."

She bites the corner of her lip in a pout, and Charles gives her his best apologetic wince. But Erik has quite a lead on him now, and with those damn long legs of his, it's going to be hard enough for Charles to keep up as it is.

He gets out of the bar at best possible speed, but Erik's nowhere in sight. Charles sighs and tugs his coat more tightly around himself, and grimaces when he feels the first drop of rain on his nose.

*

The skies open up as Charles walks back to the motel. By the time he gets there, he's soaked through, shivering a bit with cold. He digs into his pocket for the room key, but before he can fit it into the lock, he stops.

He can feel it all the way from outside the room: the unmistakeable sense of Erik's arousal, the rising rush of his lust. Charles can't tell whether he's in the shower or on his bed; he can't hear anything over the rain. He could walk in, take his chances... and risk the kind of awkwardness that wrecked things between them to begin with. He'd rather not.

The wind sends rain battering against him, and he shivers a bit, pressed up against the door. The pulse of lust from the motel room implies that Erik's in a hurry, and of course he is, he ought to be; Charles was right behind him. Charles squeezes his eyes shut as Erik finishes. Attuned to Erik as he is, it nearly gets him hard as well, but the cold is biting, and right now all he wants to do is get inside.

He gives Erik a scant minute to clean up, and then rattles his key loudly at the door. It almost isn't on purpose; his hands are shaking from cold. The door swings open before he can even get his key into the lock, though, and he walks in to see Erik coming out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, another draped around his shoulders.

Erik frowns. "Did you get caught in that?" He walks across the room and pulls Charles fully inside, swinging the door closed with his ability. "The shower's still warmed up. You can--"

He stops talking when Charles grabs both ends of the towel around his neck and drags Erik down into a kiss.

Erik's lips are warm, and although the first noise he makes is a startled one, soon enough he's kissing Charles back, his breath hot against Charles's mouth. Charles reaches up to Erik's shoulders, his cold hands making Erik shiver, but Erik just tugs Charles forward, as if he doesn't notice Charles's clammy clothing at all. He wraps his arms around Charles's waist and kisses him again and again, his thoughts so loud that Charles can't possibly block them all.

_Finally,_ Charles hears, and _yes,_ and _that mouth, I want..._

"It wasn't a mistake," Charles whispers, when they finally break apart.

"What wasn't?" Erik's hands are working at Charles's jacket, pushing it off his shoulders, letting it fall in a sodden heap on the motel carpet.

"Anything. Anything with you. I want you. I always have."

Erik traces a finger down the front of Charles's shirt, fingering his buttons. "You're going to go blue from cold if you don't get out of those clothes."

"Then warm me up," Charles says, trying to get his numbed fingers to work enough to free himself from his shirt. "Come on."

"Quit that." Erik pushes Charles's hands away from his buttons, and for a moment, Charles looks up at him in alarm-- it was Erik's idea to get his clothes off in the first place, he can't be taking it back _now_! But he isn't; he's only shoving Charles's hands aside because his own are warm, and faster. In no time at all, he's got Charles's shirt undone, and he's helping Charles out of that and his vest, working at Charles's belt buckle with both hands.

"Shoes," Charles says. Erik gives him enough space to pull off his shoes and drag off his damp socks, and then he's back to Charles's trousers, attacking the belt and button and zipper with the kind of singlemindedness Charles has always known he was capable of unleashing, the kind he's wanted to see unleashed for pleasure and not revenge. He makes a strangled noise and catches Erik's face in his hands, coming up on his toes to kiss Erik again, and this time Erik just shoves a hand down the back of Charles's trousers-- and boxers-- and squeezes a handful of Charles's arse, gasping into Charles's mouth.

Charles laughs, then dives back into Erik's mouth and strokes his tongue along Erik's. One more kiss, two, and he pulls back. "Can I assume that's a hint?"

"A hint...?" Erik sounds dazed, which is very flattering. Charles pushes his trousers and boxers down and off, and he's still cold, but at least he's out of his wet clothes. He plasters himself against Erik, his cock rubbing against the rough texture of Erik's towel, and even that feels good-- warm and good, with the thick bulge of Erik's cock on the other side of the terrycloth.

"My arse," Charles clarifies. "Is that what you want tonight?"

Erik draws back a little to look at him. "That depends," he says slowly.

"On?"

"On what happens tomorrow night."

Charles grins at Erik again; it's a smile so wide he tries to rein some of it in, tries to bite his lower lip to keep the happiness from breaking his face in half. "Whatever you like," he purrs, and Erik growls-- _growls_ at him, and drags him to the nearest bed, pushing Charles onto his back and flattening himself on top of him.

Charles's arms come up around Erik's back, his legs around Erik's waist, and Erik kisses him, over and over, hot and breathless, as if he's looking for the secrets of life and the universe in Charles's embrace. Charles rocks up eagerly-- that damn towel is still in between them, but it's a tease more than anything, some friction as they both rub against it. Charles will be damned if he comes into the folds of a used towel tonight, though, and he leans up, sinking his teeth gently into Erik's shoulder, moaning.

"Tonight," Charles breathes. "Tonight. Tell me what you want tonight."

"This." Erik grinds down against him, hard. "You. This." He leans up slightly, enough that he can slide his hand down Charles's side and under his left cheek. "Here. Do you do that, have you ever...?"

"Yes, of course-- do you have anything we can use...?"

Erik pauses, his eyebrows drawing together slightly, and Charles pushes at his shoulders. "Erik, my God. You can't expect me to take all that without _something_ slippery."

"I haven't--" Erik's beginning to flush a bit red around his cheeks when he says, "When I've done it the other way, we just used spit."

_Spit?_ Charles thinks, blinking up at Erik for a moment. He's always had the idea that Erik's life has been difficult, but so difficult no one even bothered with a palmful of lotion? He does his best to recover his composure, and sniffs, "Well, this time we'll use something more, thank you very much." He twists beneath Erik, and Erik's just off-guard enough to let him roll the two of them over. Charles settles down with his arse tight against Erik's cock, and Erik moans, hands going to Charles's hips, pulling Charles down as Erik thrusts up. "Believe me," Charles murmurs, bending down to kiss Erik's chin, "I want this as much as you do. But we have to _drive_ for eight hours tomorrow. You don't want me to be uncomfortable that whole time, do you?"

Erik's eyes light up as he looks at Charles. "Yes," he whispers, and he leans up, catches Charles at the back of the neck and kisses him. His thoughts are loud again, one after another, crashing into Charles's mind-- _for me, marked, mine, I want, yes_ , it all gets through before Charles can block him out. Charles puts both hands on Erik's bare chest and levers himself up, even though they're both panting, wild-eyed, needing this to go further _now_.

"Erik, I can't--" Charles reaches down and touches Erik's temple. "I can't stay out completely, not while you're thinking at me like that, not while we're--" He bites his lip again. "Do you understand, when I'm feeling that much pleasure, it's hard to control--"

Erik freezes underneath him, and for a moment, Charles feels his gut clenching, rolling over. He could have kept his fool mouth shut; he could have kept it secret, whatever he read, he _knows_ about secrets, Erik would never have needed to find out. If this ruins things between them, there won't be another chance, no matter how long Charles is out in the rain.

But Erik finally nods, and then nods again, more strongly. "All right," he says quietly. "Whatever you hear from me, though-- it's between us. No one else."

Relief floods through Charles, and he's nodding before Erik even finishes. "Yes, Erik, of course. Of course."

"I mean it." Erik pushes himself up on one elbow, his other hand trailing from Charles's chest to his shoulder, and up, his palm cradling Charles's neck, his thumb moving up and down Charles's throat. "You don't tell Moira, or our friend from the CIA--"

Charles covers Erik's hand with his own, stilling it for a moment. "You're going to be thinking about Shaw while you _fuck_ me?"

He can see Erik's jaw clench and unclench; he can feel the tension in Erik's hand. "No," he grits out, "but he's _there_ , in my head, the way he's always been. I've always warned you to stay out. Did you think it was just for me?"

"Why... why else would..."

Erik slips his hand out from under Charles's, and he's gentle now, his fingers combing through the wet strands of Charles's hair. He strokes Charles's temple, caressing him, and Charles moans, wanting nothing more than to feel that touch forever.

"I imagine you've seen any number of things you wouldn't have chosen to," Erik murmurs. "Why add my past to all that?"

_Because it's you!_ Charles wants to shout. _Because it's your life, your pain, your grief, and you don't have to suffer through the memories alone!_

To Erik, he whispers, "I'll stay away from your past as best I can. But anything I... 'hear'... it's just between the two of us. No one else. Never, Erik."

Erik leans up still further and kisses Charles again, and Charles bends down, his arms slipping around Erik's neck as they settle onto the motel mattress once again. A thought slips by him, Erik's voice soft beneath Charles's shields... _you can, I want you to... remember, Charles... in the water..._

Charles draws back to look Erik in the eyes. He bites his lip, holds his breath... and for the second time, with Erik, _for_ Erik, dives. «This?» he sends. «Is this what you want?»

Erik's eyes slip closed, and he nods. Charles opens, lets himself take in the thoughts Erik's projecting. «Is it like this with everyone?» he asks. Charles has to open further still, to take in the associations, the feelings, what Erik means when he says it. But the feelings... they're a mirror for his own. A sense of soul-deep belonging, a _certainty_ , all those things that led Charles to make Erik a promise before they were even out of the water. _You're not alone. Erik, you're not alone._

«Not with everyone,» Charles sends back, bending his head down again, resting his forehead against Erik's shoulder. «Just with you.»

«Then don't stop.» Erik cups the back of Charles's head in his hand and holds on. «Don't stop.»

«God, Erik, do you mean it... do you know how much I've _wanted_ to, with you, I wanted this, all of this, every bit of you...» It's too much, Charles knows better, but he can't stop now. Erik tilts his head up, kisses Charles's cheek, the bridge of his nose-- Charles reads affection from him when the kiss lands there, and his momentary confusion results in a mental image from Erik, those two prominent freckles on Charles's nose... and Erik's fondness for them.

«You're absurd,» Charles sends, but he knows he's sending his feelings, too: shy pleasure, relief that Erik finds things to be attracted to even when Charles sees anything but perfection when he looks at himself in the mirror.

«You're warming up,» Erik sends back, holding Charles tightly and rocking up against him. «And I want you.»

_I want you_ , given freely, mind-to-mind... Charles grabs Erik by the shoulders and pins him down against the bed, all his desire coming out in a low groan. He kisses Erik, hard, and shoves at Erik's towel, finally getting the damned thing free of Erik's hips. Now it's just the two of them, pressed together, skin against skin, and Charles wraps one hand around both their cocks, his own thick shaft and Erik's longer one. As much as Charles wants more, as much as he can feel how badly Erik wants to be inside him, he just can't wait for this. Not tonight. Not with Erik's _I want you_ burning through Charles's thoughts.

«I want you, too, I always have, _always_ ,» Charles sends, working their cocks, gasping again and again as Erik catches his hips and starts driving into Charles's fist. «Stay with me. Be with me. I want you, I need you, I need this, don't wait, don't stop, Erik, _yes_ \--»

«Yes,» Erik echoes, hot and bright, his arms going around Charles's back and crushing Charles to him as he comes, pulse after pulse of it, hot and sticky between their bodies. Charles slicks his hand with it and strokes them again, and again, the scent of heat and sweat and sex filling the room-- no towel this time, no boxers, no pilfered shirt, this time he comes all over Erik, with a hoarse cry and his head thrown back. No more hiding. No more secrets. Just the two of them, together after all this time.

He comes back to himself with Erik petting his hair, holding Charles close. Somewhere in the low, pleased murmur of Erik's thoughts, there's an ember of contentment. It's something Charles doesn't dare go too near. Right now, it feels like that ember could go out at any moment, and Charles doesn't want that. He wants to kindle it, feed it... coax that ember into a flame.

He smiles against Erik's chest, and Erik chuckles quietly beneath him. "What's that about?" Erik asks.

"I was just thinking..." Charles levers himself up again, looking down into Erik's eyes. "I was wondering what we'll do tomorrow."

Erik smirks up at him. "Who says we're waiting until tomorrow?" he asks, and he pulls Charles down again, kissing him as if he never means to stop.


End file.
